


Pleasant Dreams

by Verelia



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Day 2: longing / denial / loneliness, F/F, FE Rarepair Week, Female My Unit | Reflet | Robin, f!robin / panne, my robin's name is Fyra, there's some angst here! but it has a happy end i promise, this is more fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 04:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15502608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verelia/pseuds/Verelia
Summary: Day 2 Prompt: Longing/Denial/Loneliness.  After years of avoiding human cities wherever she could, Panne finds herself in Ylisstol.  At one time, a crowd of humans meant only danger and strife, but with Fyra at her side, the world is safer, and warmer, and loving.  With the terrors of her past haunting her at every turn, she resolves to make new memories with the one she loves.





	Pleasant Dreams

When Fyra said she was going into the marketplace, Panne nearly turned her down.  Her hesitation was not lost on Fyra, and neither was the reason behind it.

 

Panne’s memories of such places were seldom anything but painful.  

 

She had spent years living alone, wandering from place to place with none that she could call home.  She kept to the wilderness when she could, but sooner or later, she always ran out of  _ something _ that she couldn’t quite make herself.  And when she finally ventured into some man-spawn village or town, it was often with a cloak pulled over her head.  At the very least, she hid her ears under her hair--her need to hide herself far outweighed the inconvenience of long hair.  After all, the single surviving taguel in the world was a poor fit for blending into human crowds. 

 

Usually she would be met with suspicion or curiosity--ignoring all those eyes on her became second nature after awhile--but on several occasions, she faced an uglier side of mankind.  A mob was all it took to spur even the most cowardly human to violence. 

 

They never stood a chance against her.  But to fight a dozen townspeople was to paint herself as exactly the sort of criminal they wanted her to be--better, she’d always thought, to weather their stones and kicks and punches, and run until she lost them.  

 

But for all her physical fortitude, she was haunted still by memories of cold nights spent utterly alone, her skin covered with bruises and welts from humans’ ire.  Sometimes she bled, and had no choice but to tear at her clothes--whatever rags she'd managed to find in her travels--for makeshift bandages. When sleep finally took her, she found no solace in dreams.  If she was not reliving the day’s horrors, then instead she suffered her warren’s last night for the thousandth time. She always woke alone, her fur plastered to her skin with sweat, no matter how cold the night air was.  Even transformed, the aftermath always saw her trembling; in anger, or fear, or a chill that cut right to the bone.

 

The nightmares plagued her even now, when she ran out of herbs for the soothing tea that offered her dreamless sleep.  But she no longer woke alone.

 

Every time she wrenched herself from the jaws of a nightmare, Fyra was there with soothing words, warm touches, and a new, comforting truth: as long as Fyra still drew breath, no one would ever hurt Panne again.  Whenever ananyone so much as glanced at her the wrong way, Fyra’s hand strayed to the insides of her coat, to the hidden pockets that held the torn pages of magic tomes--still good for casting--or the daggers that Fyra wore on her hips.  

 

Her reflection came to an end when Fyra took Panne’s hand in her own, placing it on her chest.  

 

“I’m here.  And I’ll be by your side the whole time.”  She could hear her heart anyway, but she would not object to feeling its soothing, steady beat under her palm.  “And,” Fyra continued, her heart’s rhythm quickening ever so slightly as her expression darkened, “if anyone tries anything, they’ll face the might of their famous tactician.”  

 

“I know.”  Panne exhaled slowly, trying to slow her own heart’s rushed pace at the mere thought of putting herself in such a situation again.  

 

“Listen--if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”  The determination in Fyra’s gaze faltered a bit, but after a moment it was replaced with joy, instead, and the brilliant smile that Panne could have stared at for hours.  “Tell me what you need, and I can get it for you--and I’ll bring you back something nice, too. Or, well, many somethings--you’d be surprised what royal treasury can spare for little old me.”

 

Panne couldn’t help but laugh at the wonderful absurdity of Fyra using the crown’s gold to shower her with gifts.  “I admit, I would like to see that. But… whatever you wish to give to me, you can show me then and there. I look forward to treating you, too... though I imagine my purse is a bit lighter than yours.”

 

She had hardly finished talking by the time Fyra wrapped her into a tight hug.

 

“It’ll be great, I promise!”  Her cheerful tone was muffled slightly by Panne’s shoulder.  “And your purse can’t be emptier than mine. All my gold is yours, too!”  

 

Panne chuckled, wrapping her arms around Fyra in turn.  

 

How easy it was to forget that solitude was no more than a distant memory.

 

\--

 

Panne initially shied away from the crowds that formed around them.  With her hair, and only her hair, pulled into a single braid down her back, she was overly conscious of the gentle breeze on her ears.  It felt wonderful, but this was the first time she wore them so openly in a place like this. She walked proudly, as a taguel should, with her head held high and her hand clinging tightly to Fyra’s.  

 

But the people around them seemed to be content with admiring from afar.  Some waved, others shouted their gratitude, or Fyra’s name--much to Panne’s surprise, she even heard her own name a few times.  And no matter which woman the crowd addressed, their tone was one of adoration and wonder. Though the noise was a bit much for her sensitive ears, the awe she felt at the way they welcomed her was an effective distraction.

 

After an hour or so, the couple found their way to a jeweler's stand.  Panne took several minutes to decide between a few necklaces, each with a different gem at the end of a thin golden chain.  

 

Deciding upon the one one that matched Fyra’s hair, she picked up the emerald necklace and, though it put her stomach in knots, made eye contact with the jeweler.

 

“This is of very fine make.  You clearly have... considerable skill,” she rambled in an attempt to be polite.  Her instinct was to simply demand the price, but one of Anna’s long, indignant spiels during the Plegian campaign was more than enough to make her reconsider.

 

“Oh, well you… you have my thanks, miss!”  The man sounded just as nervous as she was, to her relief.

 

“Could you tell me the price?  I think it will make a fine gift.” 

 

Before she finished speaking, she had already looked away to fumble with the coin purse at her waist, but the jeweler stopped her short.

 

“Wait--that’s alright, my lady.  Er, forgive my saying so, but… you're Panne, right?  The taguel who fought with His Grace?”

 

Fyra, who had bent down to study the jewelry on the cart, quickly straightened up and took a pace to the left, putting her close enough that her shoulder brushed Panne’s.  She cocked her head to the side at the man’s question, and out of his view, took Panne’s hand into hers and squeezed slightly.

 

“I am,” Panne began, “though I am not sure what difference it makes.”  She tried to keep her voice even, but there was no mistaking the edge to her tone.  

 

“Sorry, my lady, I… I'm better with metal than words.”  He put his hands up defensively, a sheepish smile on his face.  “You see, I’ve traveled a lot in my time. Met lots of good folk, including yours.  Had a taguel friend, many years ago--not sure where he is now. But I’m glad to see his people out fighting, doing good.  So uh, to answer your question,” he stammered, reaching behind him to produce a leather pouch, “that won't cost you at all.  Consider it a thank you for what you’ve done.” 

 

Panne could hardly do more than stare at the man, her mouth hanging open.  He’d held up the pouch for a few seconds before she snapped out of her trance and took it, placing the necklace carefully inside.

 

She didn't have the heart to tell him what happened to that friend of his.  Some small part of her thought that perhaps he belonged to a different warren, one that never knew the cruel fate that hers did.

 

“Thank you.  Truly.” Her words were few but genuine, and in return the man offered a slight bow to her, and then to Fyra, before moving to help another customer beside them.  

 

Fyra took her hand again, grinning from ear to ear, and began to lead Panne off toward the next vendor.  Panne, still a bit dazed, was thankful for the direction. She longed to see the necklace on Fyra, but she supposed waiting would make the sight of it all the sweeter.

 

They had not yet gone ten paces, however, before being halted yet again.  

 

This time, it was a child.  A boy of no more than ten, with messy brown hair and a lopsided smile.  

 

“Um… Miss Panne?  And Miss Fyra?” His voice was quiet as he wrung his hands.

 

It wasn't often that Panne was addressed first.  Even so, she let Fyra do the talking, figuring the boy had just made a mistake.  

 

Her love knelt down before him, glancing back at Panne with a badly hidden giggle.

 

“Hello there!” Fyra greeted him, though his only response was a shy little wave.  “What's your name?”

 

“Um…”  He stared at his feet, which he shuffled nervously.  “I’m Seth.” 

 

“That's a nice name!” Fyra chirped excitedly.  “I'm Fyra, but you already know that. And you got her name right, too--that’s Panne!” she said, gesturing toward her.  

 

The boy immediately turned his attention to Panne, even taking a step in her direction.

 

“Um, Miss Panne?”

 

Holding back a sigh, she knelt down next to Fyra, facing the little boy.  She tried to hide the nervousness in her voice, and was ready to jump backwards if he started tugging on her ears. 

 

“Yes, child?”  

 

“I want to thank you, Miss Panne.  I don't have a lot of gold--well, I don't have any gold--but I picked some flowers, and Mother said they were very nice, so I thought maybe… would you like them?”

 

He brought out a small handful of flowers from behind his back.  The delicate petals were a bright shade of purple, the stems leafy and clear of thorns.  

 

Panne couldn't help but gasp in surprise.  

 

She looked at Fyra incredulously, who nodded toward the bouquet with a grin.  That smile alone was all the convincing she needed. 

 

Panne reached out slowly, her hands trembling.  She finally found her voice once she clasped her hands around the flowers and breathed in their sweet scent.

 

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, “but why me?”

 

“You saved my mother!” the boy said, looking right into Panne’s eyes and beaming all the while.  “She’s one of the exalt’s knights! And one time, in Plegia, when you were fighting that evil king… she says she was outnumbered, and really hurt, and… she says that you turned into a giant bunny and saved her!”

 

“I think I recall… her name was Lily, yes?”  She would have been hard pressed to forget that day.  A few seconds later, and the woman would have surely died.  But taguel were so much faster than humans, Plegian or otherwise.  Panne had made it in time, and helped the woman all the way back to the healers.  What stuck in her mind, however, was the woman’s insistence upon thanking her, despite the fact that she could hardly remain conscious.  She had even gone to Panne’s tent the next day and offered her dinner. It was a stark contrast to the way so many fellow soldiers shied away from her, even in the midst of battle.

 

“Yes!  Mother is Lily, and Mummy is Alra.  We live down the street--there,” he said, pointing vaguely toward a cluster of shops.  “Mummy runs the smithy, and Mother helps her out when she's not busy. You should visit us!”

 

He might have rambled on further, but a crowd had begun to form around them.  Panne tensed despite herself, tightening her hold on the flowers, for all the good it did.  

 

Fyra stood up, sensing her discomfort. 

 

“We will,” she assured the boy, “but today we’re a little busy.  So tell your mothers that Fyra and Panne said hello, alright?”

 

Clearly overjoyed at the prospect of relaying this message, the boy did a respectable imitation of a bow.  “Of course, I’ll tell them right away, Miss Fyra! And I hope you like the flowers, Miss Panne!” 

 

“I love them,” she assured, “and I will treasure them even after they wilt.”  

 

He gave a hearty cheer at her response before skipping back through the crowd, nimbly dodging the onlookers that had gathered.

 

Fyra offered her hand and helped Panne up, but did not let go even after they both began walking.  The crowd seemed to part just as Fyra neared its edge. Suddenly, it seemed, the eavesdroppers all had better things to do.  

 

Panne clutched the flowers close to her chest and let Fyra lead them through narrow streets and winding paths until they reached a more sparsely populated section of the city.  An empty, cracked fountain sat in the middle of a desolate square, with little plants peeking through the rifts of stone. 

 

They sat on the fountain’s edge, Panne still studying the flowers in her hands.  Violets, she thought, as she gently ran the pads of her fingers over the petals. 

 

“Could I see those?  I have an idea.” Fyra wrapped her arms around Panne’s waist, leaning her head on Panne’s shoulder.  

 

“Your plans never fail to amaze me,” Panne mused, handing over the bouquet.  

 

She leaned back as Fyra prodded at her hair, weaving the flowers through her braid.  Panne closed her eyes, caring nothing for who might have seen them or stared, and simply cherished the present moment.

 

“What do you think?”

 

Panne opened her eyes slowly, and was delighted at the sight that awaited her.

 

“I love it,” she said, and she meant it.  The flowers were not bent, but curved ever so slightly, so that she could find them a proper place in their room once they returned.  Some stray hairs had fallen out of the braid, but she was far too pleased with Fyra’s masterpiece to care.

 

While Panne was distracted, Fyra pulled her into her arms and snuck a peck on her cheek.

 

“Not as much as I love  _ you _ .”

 

That night, as they slept beside a vase full of flowers, Panne dreamt of sparkling fountains and violet fields.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Here's my prompt for Day 2 of FE Rarepair week. I hope you enjoy! And I'm sorry it's pretty late in the day, but I'm proud of getting it in at all today! I was really stumped for awhile on this one, and managed to churn it out all in one day, haha! Also, if you've seen Izetta, I'm sorry to give you flashbacks of episode 4. But Panne deserves these sweet moments, dammit! Anyway, thank you for reading! <3


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